The Interrogator Knows Me
by abc-mno
Summary: And Santana doesn't mind it; not really, she'll pretend she loves it, being the single most feared person in the hallways. She doesn't even care that she has no one nodding along behind her anymore; it just means a lot less explaining.


_**Characters from the television series, Glee. Quote from iwrotethisforyou. I do not own anything. **_

_**It takes hours to write; seconds to review. **_

Light hits the eyes the universe gave me. Time throws slow punches but they hurt all the same.  
>You are a secret I can never give up.<br>(Please Find This; _IWroteThisForYou_)

Santana eventually gets so bored of being nice, of making an effort to like people and getting it all thrown in her face, that she finally just gives up. Legend has it when she was a baby and her mother considered going all holy on everyone's asses, Santana told the priest that Jesus was just a drunk tramp that wanted to tell stories.

Santana is a bitch, a lonely bitch. She's not even going to try and be different anymore. Not for Quinn, not for Sam or his fucked up lips, and not even for Brittany.

They've given up on her, so she's given up on them.

;:;:

Dave dumps Santana by text in a fit of self-confidence and acceptance. She doesn't care, it's not like she weeded Karofsky out because she liked him. He was just a convenience. A distraction.

Her eyes well up because the cooking room down the hall is making cheese and onion roles. She only needs to throw up because she hasn't eaten for three and half days. It's not at all like she cares.

She slips her phone into her locker, no one useful texts her nowadays, and decides Glee Club isn't worth the effort.

;:;:

On her way out she spots Brittany walking into the choir room and decides the effort might actually be worth it, after all singing calms her down, dancing untangles her knots. Maybe Santana could actually use a bit of Glee Club.

She doesn't, though. And Santana spends the whole session glaring at every single one of them as their legs prance around the room and their mouths mime to songs they sing to themselves in the shower. She considers storming straight to Coach Sylvester and offering her services to destroy the Glee Club and all the losers cohabited in it.

Though, Santana notes with pure resentment, even Coach Sylvester's gone soft, ever since the funeral. Smiling when it's not at someone's expense. Laughing about things that are so completely not funny it makes her sick.

And Santana doesn't mind it; not really, she'll pretend she loves it, being the only bitch in school. The single most feared person in the hallways. She doesn't even care that she has no one nodding along behind her anymore; it just means a lot less explaining.

;:;:

Brittany catches her on the way into school the next day. Santana has woken up and, despite her hair looking totally hot, she'd felt like shit and she was all too ready to be a bitch to anyone that stood in her way. And it's all just too convenient, really, the fact that Brittany's trying her mood on the worst day of the week so far, Santana doesn't even care that it's Monday.

"Hey." Brittany's wave is lopsided and Santana wants to slap her hand straight back to her side. If she's not going to wave properly then she shouldn't even try. "I text you."

"My phone is in my locker."

"Oh." Brittany shrugs, her smile shouldn't make her want to smile back. So Santana convinces herself it's just awkward and immature to smile in high school. "I thought the cat ate it again."

"I don't have a cat." Santana deadpans, her feet almost running toward her locker. Brittany still doesn't know the way to her own locker, let alone Santana's, so maybe she'll lose the dead weight along the way, even if they are one away from each other. "And my cell has never been eaten."

"Oh." Brittany looks confused for about ten seconds and then just smiles, lets the confusion go. "That was definitely me then." And Santana has learnt, or rather convinced herself, that Brittany knows nothing and cares about even less. She didn't care about that, until the latter decided to pay her a visit and bite her in the ass.

Santana stops, because, really, Brittany is completely ruining the mood she'd geared herself up for. She'd walked through the gates with the full intention of showing just how much of a failure the bully-whips actually were. Prepared to go all Lima Heights on their asses and prove her badness. She's already been eyeing up potential victims. Victims she knows didn't vote for her to be prom queen. No out-and-proud is going to steal her crown with no casualties along the way.

"Brittany, what do you want?" She throws her hands up and slaps them back on her thighs, smiles inwardly when she gets leered at, even if it is by the head of the chess club. Maybe Brittany will really see how lucky she was to get on her.

"To talk."

"Is this another interview for the Mckreeker?"

"It's the Mckraker."

"Seriously?"

Brittany lifts her eyebrows, the way she does when she's proud of something, and smiles innocently. "I found out why I'm in love with two people." She says, and even though Santana actually wants to hear another one of her theories, she's vowed to herself she wouldn't give a shit about Brittany anymore, so she starts to walk away again.

"I don't care."

"I'm a timelord." She carries on anyway, her feet hitting Santana's ankles as they walk. "I have two hearts, see? And they're for my two lovely loves. And I even have a telephone box down my street. So it must be true, right?"

"Britt, I don't care." Santana says again, deliberately tripping someone over in the corridor as they walk past, people shouldn't walk into her feet.

"But I thought you said you lov-"

Santana's turned around and clamped her hand to Brittany's mouth in an instant, narrowing her eyes as she twists her head to the side. "It was a mistake."

Brittany starts to mumble and spray spit all over Santana's fingers so she pulls them back and wipes it against her skirt furiously. She'll have no part of Brittany on her anymore. Nothing to do with her at all.

"No one I know makes mistakes." Brittany says quietly and it's such a ridiculous remark Santana wants to hit her.

"Schuester found gel, Quinn got a bun in her oven, you shagged Sheilas-Wheels." Santana raises her eyebrows, she's right. Santana's always right. "Frisberry's whole life is a mistake."

"Quinn can't cook."

Santana huffs and storms off, pushing the nearest girl into a locker and smiling to herself when she hears the clatter of books hitting the floor.

;:;:

It's two weeks before Nationals and Santana despises the fact that her fingernails get sweaty and her heart starts beating a little faster at the prospect. It's not like she gives a shit about the people, she's told herself, standing in the mirror and trying not to check her tits out, it's that she can't lose for anything. It's just about the winning, obviously.

It's not about the fact that whenever Brittany talks about Glee Club her eyes go sparkly and her smile spreads across both cheeks. It's not about any of that, because Santana just wants to prove her place in the Glee Club and show that she's the best damned thing since ever.

;:;:

When Quinn rings that night, Santana almost forgets who _Lucy Caboosey_ is until she remembers the fat ass picture slicked to the notice boards in the corridors, and mistakes her for someone that actually cares about feelings.

"Finn dumped me." She snivels, the phone line crackling. Santana can't even be bothered to find that part of her that cares a tiny bit for Quinn; it's buried way too deep.

"Again." She says, because it's bitchy and there's no point in even trying to be nice. It'd all be a lie anyway.

"Yeah. Thanks, San." Quinn says back sarcastically, her tone on the verge of falling into a whine. And, really, Santana can't be bothered for a Fabray moan, it's long and offensively pathetic. So she decides to level with her, share their annoyance together.

"Brittany dumped me." She shrugs on her end, pretending she doesn't care and almost decides to laugh at how childish she sounds. At how completely embarrassing this whole situation is.

Quinn sniffs and Santana just knows she'll be shaking her head at herself, chewing eagerly at her bottom lip. When they were younger they'd take guys to the stands for lunch and at the end they'd phone each other from opposite sides of the bleachers, watching each other in the distance as they spoke.

"It's not the same." Quinn sighs and her voice is back to being annoyingly desperate, waiting on someone to reassure her of everything she likes to pretend she is. "I love Finn."

Santana doesn't answer back because, whatever, she probably never loved Brittany either. She definitely doesn't love the way she smiles, her teeth showing between the gaps in her lips. Or the way she'd kiss Santana's nose randomly when they were on her bed, Brittany's hands grappling at her top. "It's not the same." Santana repeats, nodding and internally storing the information into a cabinet of things she needs to reinforce.

"Besides, he wants that stuck-up cow instead. I mean, she wears freaking leg warmers all year around. Who does she think she is?" Quinn lets out an exasperated groan. Artie wears gloves all year around and fucksakes, it's not like it's going to snow in summer.

Santana, along with everyone in the whole wide world, could see it coming. Berry's been trying to get on Finn for the past forever years, they're probably both still virgins with how gay they both are for each other. They'll probably be planning a special night or some sad shit like that. Being a virgin is so last century, Santana found that out when she was fourteen and Gordon Weiner trapped her against the sports lockers.

She doesn't say anything though, because Quinn used to always be about waiting for a special person or something just as pathetic. It was back at the time when people actually thought it was cute that Quinn went to church, now it's just sad and embarrassing. As far as Santana's concerned, she is God.

"Whatever." Santana just says, after three minutes of listening to Quinn snort back the snot Santana can imagine dribbling from her perfectly arranged nose-job. "Fin's fat and probably gay anyway. All sports men are gay, it's proven. His nipples are so small, they're like mosquito bites, not even ants would enjoy them." And then, just because it's fun to bitch about Artie drowning in all his pathetic-ness; "Besides, his dick's as useful as FourCheese's legs."

Quinn laughs and Santana can't help but smile too. Sometimes she's not such a bitch. And sometimes it's being a bitch that makes her nice.

;:;:

Artie, in all the failure that he is, scrapes his wheels along the floor just to get to her. She almost wants to run away because being seen with a cripple is just beyond suicide for her reputation, and it makes her seem accepting of people that are different. And she's not. Ever since everyone left her, she's really not. Even the gays make her want to be sick. She, on the other hand, is completely finished with that ship.

"From up here where the humans live, it looks like you have so many eyes you're like a spider. But with no legs." Santana says when he's lazing beneath her, and she doesn't even think he deserves the effort to look down to where the animals crawl along the floor.

He just makes her angry that she could ever be likened in Brittany's heart to this monster attached to a built-in-sofa. Artie probably isn't even qualified to use a wheelchair, just another lazy guy fed up of dragging his feet along the pavement.

"You're still not talking to Brittany." He says and even his voice makes her want to find the nearest trash can and puke all over the slushie bottles, the contents shouldn't even be wasted on the Glee Club's face. They're probably such losers they'd enjoy the refreshments along their sweaty heads.

"And this is your business, how?"

Artie looks to the ground but he's so tiny down there he may as well be looking straight into her skirt. She braces herself for whatever retarded thing is going to come out of his moth-sized-mouth. "Because I love her."

Santana heaves right above Artie's head. "Well if that isn't the most fucked up thing I've ever heard-"

"And you're upsetting her." He finishes, shrugging and playing with his gloves with fucking child-like Velcro plastered all over them. And, like, Santana's drawn to his tiny little hands, his miniature fingers. She can't help but laugh at how shitty Brittany's sex life must be nowadays if she only has them sausage rolls to play with.

"She didn't look too upset when she was dancing with you at prom, did she?"

"We're not together." He says, and his voice breaks, literally breaks. Santana pretends she doesn't feel a twinge of sympathy for him, because she gets it. Having Brittany all to herself and then dealing with the scraps she left on the bedroom floor. But he's played an exclusive role in this newly formed bitch Santana's made of herself, so he doesn't deserve a discount.

She shrugs and then walks around his wheelbarrow, pretending it's the biggest effort in the world veering around a set of wheels. "And neither are we, Artie. So have her."

;:;:

Santana knows she needs another guy, someone to show off to the world and satisfy the needs she pretends guys used to fill. Back when she convinced them both that shagging Brittany was just two best friends talking with their mouths really close together and their hands dancing to a song of their own.

Puck's getting on the whole cafeteria built into one. And she's not going to fight Lauren again, Santana's Lima Heights moves were brilliant, she'll always be the ruling bitch, but no match to the hamburger hands of Lauren Zizes.

Sam's fucking Chunky Choc Ice. Really, Santana actually likes Mercedes. Sometimes. But Santana is better. Santana is always better.

So, she's stuck. The Asian guy is dating the Asian girl. She doesn't have a dick, so Kurt's out of the question. Finn's nipples are like cheerios, the actual serial, surrounded by clotted cream.

Brittany's not a guy. Brittany's a bitch. And Brittany went to prom with the wrong person and got her picture taken on the wrong person's lap. Brittany's out of the question. Sometimes Santana doesn't even miss the taste of her lips.

Occasionally she has overwhelming waves of loneliness that Santana just wants to crawl up into bed and cry. But, really, there are tons of guys lining up for a taste of Santana. It's not even her fault anymore that everyone feels like the wrong person.

;:;:

A week before Nationals she takes the guy she's been sat next to in literature the whole year behind the bleachers and fucks him. He probably thinks it's the luckiest day of his life. Santana decided he was suitable. He's from Portugal and his accent sounds sexy in any other ear and his teeth are perfectly in line and his nose isn't crooked.

His mouth feels wrong and his thrusts are a little too eager and he hasn't got enough hair on his head to play with. But he'll do. He's all wrong, but he'll have to do.

;:;:

"I heard you're dating Victor Borreco." Brittany whispers whilst they're waiting in the choir room for the rest of the Glee Club. Santana looks up angrily, annoyed Brittany even decided to open her mouth in front of her.

Santana tries to concentrate on the idea of drawing something rude on the board and blaming it on QueerBerry again, just to watch her stutter her virgin ass out of the blame. "Who?"

"The forlorn boy from france."

"It's foreign, Britt. And he's from Portugal." Santana says it proudly; because maybe he is the first guy she's got with since Brittany found the bionic boy on wheels. Maybe she doesn't need Brittany's skin against hers as much as she fooled herself into thinking.

"But, you said he smelt like cheese and sweat." Brittany's making her feel bad, and Santana doesn't remember signing any contract to say it wasn't okay to be intimate with anyone outside of Brittany. She has no right to make Santana feel guilty for something she's been doing with Artie for half the year.

"Yeah, some cheese is nice. The English always have cheese and crackers and that Queen is meant to be well classy. I'm a queen, so I should like cheese." She shrugs, Santana hates cheese and Brittany knows it. "Besides we both smelt like sweat when we were finished."

"That's gross."

"You're gross."

"If it isn't my two favorite cheerleaders." Puck whistles as he saunters in, winking at them both and turning the room silent again.

;:;:

The next boy she takes around the back of the bleachers sits next to Brittany in Art. She knows he takes straighteners to his hair every night and pretends to like killing people on the play station or whatever boys obsess about nowadays. Maybe she chose him because they've both got something to hide. Maybe she just chose him because Brittany actually likes him.

;:;:

"You're mean." Brittany says when Santana strides past her locker the day after. "I don't know why you're being so Cruella De Vil."

Santana wants to cry right then and there for some unfathomable reason she can't quite name, but she smiles evilly instead and shrugs her shoulders like all her joints are dead. "Because," her voice is horrible, so horrible it hurts to come out of her mouth. She's bored of this now. She's bored of only staring at Brittany's mouth when she's talking. "You chose the wrong person, Britt."

"I went with everybody's dates to the prom."

"I'm not talking about the prom." She says and walks off down the hallway, she didn't even need to go down the corridors with the lockers. She has to turn around and correct her mistake.

;:;;

Artie's a fucking failure at life and should never, ever have been allowed to travel on an airplane. He screws everything up, and not just because Brittany is asked to sit next to him. Probably to make sure he doesn't go skidding around disturbing all the passengers more than he already has.

The airhostesses pretend to find him cute and move out the way to let him past with Brittany getting all excited as she pushes him along the rows. It's not like Santana knows this is her first time on a plane and she's so excited she hasn't slept for the past three weeks.

Santana makes sure to start the groans of annoyance off, pleading for the other passengers to adapt it and moan about MealsOnWheels as well.

He's not even a good singer. So, whatever. She'll get over being stuck with Kurt and his rambling mouth, yapping on about his gay life and his gay loves and his great gay boyfriend. Being gay isn't even cool, Santana's learned from experience. So, in brief, Kurt's not even slightly cool.

;:;:

She's not even a little shocked to find out Artie causes a queue in the sidewalks as they all wait to leave the airplane. She can hear Brittany's giggles from the front and she hopes Artie's wheels get stuck in the doorframe and he falls off.

;:;:

"This is so exciting, right?" Sam nudges her elbow as they take their first step into New York City. His excitement is already grating at her so she smiles and nods.

"Yeah, it's great. We've actually found a place bigger than your gob."

She's already the most hated person on the trip and Santana doesn't even have to try.

;:;:

The only good thing, and it amuses Santana greatly, is that Quinn is lagging behind in the group and she's stuck behind Finn and Rachel holding hands and pointing to great big buildings sky-high. Her face looks even sourer than Santana's and that's hard to beat.

She almost wants to suggest she gets with Jesse St. James on the trip, but that would just be limiting Santana's choice for someone to seduce over the trip. She has to find fun somewhere and being bitchy sometimes just doesn't amuse her enough.

;:;:

Mr. Schuester stops them all in front of a dingy building with about ten floors stocked with windows advertising mould. Everyone moans except for Brittany, she seems to think it's beautiful.

"Well, seeing as though we just scraped the money to get here, we have to make do with what we have." He tries to smile but he always looks constipated when he shows any sign of emotion beyond pained. "Besides, we're still gong to win Nationals. That's what's important here, right?"

"Oh, completely." Rachel opens her fat gob and her multi-coloured jacket is blinding Santana and she kind of just wants to rip it off and sell it to the nearest drug dealers around. Kurt looks just as torn as he stares at her. "We're going to win so hard they won't know what hit them. Am I right?"

No one answers.

"I'm bored." Santana throws her bag on the floor for the principle. "Why are we standing outside admiring this gruesome site when we could be in there enjoying the company of spiders and other rodent creatures that resemble PickleBerry and RobotWheels. Because, I'm not going to lie, I'd rather hang with the creatures inside than the feral children outside."

;:;:

She and Brittany are down to share a room. It's not surprising that Schuester is completely blind to the goings on in the Glee Club. Really, if it hadn't been obvious that Santana was ignoring the hell out of Brittany in the choir room, she was going to make it a hell of a lot noticeable now.

She almost goes to complain, to raise her hand and shake her fist in his face and go all Lima Heights on anyone that tried to room with her because, hello, personal space please. But Brittany looks so excited and so pleased about the whole shitty organization; Santana doesn't have the heart to ruin this trip for her.

;:;:

As soon as they shut the door, Santana is quick and ready to set room boundaries. And it's not like they've never shared a room before because they were kids once, they did used to think that sleepovers and staying up all night and watching scary movies made them the coolest kids on the block.

Santana doesn't think about the many times they've shared a bed. Shared a quilt and a pillow and sometimes they even wore clothes. She doesn't think about that because it's not where this is going.

It's not going there ever again.

"We need a sock code, right?" Santana says as she chooses the double bed against the wall because she's not a total bitch. She knows Brittany would go wild for the bed next to the window with the view of New York City. She still lives to please Brittany somehow.

"Oh totally." Brittany nods, and Santana's stomach drops. Because fine, she was bitch for saying it anyway, but Brittany has obviously already been thinking about it. "Though, I usually just put them in pairs by how they look."

Santana sighs. It's not relief, she tells herself, it's just stress at how difficult Brittany can be. "I mean, like, a sock code for when you can come in and that. When we have boys and over or whatever."

Brittany looks to the ground for a whole five seconds and then looks up with a completely composed and happy face. If she asks for a sock for Artie, Santana may just walk over to him and snap his giraffe neck. Santana almost wants her to argue back. "Yeah, sure. Can we have yellow for when the Glee Club are round."

"Only losers have yellow socks and we don't need a sock for that." Brittany looks confused. "Just… red means the room's occupied, okay?"

"Does that mean I can't come in?"

"It means go shag LimpyLegs."

"Why?"

"Because I'll be in here with someone else."

Brittany stops and walks to her bed, flops her whole body against the mattress. Santana pretends it's not the first time in a long time she's seen Brittany so close on a bed. She doesn't let her imagination run far.

"Like our sweet lady kisses?" She asks and her eyes are almost pleading for an answer than Santana just doesn't know how to give.

"No, Britt." She shakes her head and closes her eyes. She feels even more tired than she looks. "Not like that at all."

;:;:

During their first practice for the Nationals Mr. Schuester takes Santana aside for a talk. She makes sure to send her evil eyes out to the rest of them that are pretending not to be watching eagerly, listening in for the sake of gossip.

"Santana, I've heard your planning on taking back people to the hotel." He bites his lip, pretending like he's a responsible adult and like he didn't cheat on his wife or Ms. Holiday with the obsessive careers lady. All the rumors went around school; Santana made sure the words kept circling for days. "That's just not appropriate behavior on a school trip, really. Is it?"

Santana smirks and looks straight through the crowd, at Jesse St. James shouting insults at everyone but Rachel, directing his glare at Finn. They have something in common, hatred for the Glee Club. And whilst hers may be a defense and a little fake, his hatred is something she'll enjoy manipulating. She hates him an equal amount.

"Is Emma Pillsbury sharing your room, Mr. Schue?"

"Santana-"

"Or is she still married?"

"Ms. Pillsbury isn't even on this trip, Santana. Stop trying to stir things up." His hair looks like a mop of curls, or more like long worms all dancing around in a pool of grease. "I don't expect to be hearing anymore stories, okay?"

She nods and puts on a sweet smile. "There are a lot of stories going around, Sir."

;:;:

This practicing is new; they never really did it for the other competitions. It was purposeful, though, so it always just looked like they got the same song in their heads at the same time and knew the same dance routine. It always looked so spontaneous and exciting.

Lauren trips and sprains her leg. Santana doesn't even have a bitchy remark, she just tries to help her up and offers a reassuring smile and a scowl at Rachel. It's always Rachel's fault, even if it's not. Somewhere, somehow, it'll always lead back to Rachel Berry.

;:;:

The doctors say Zizes can't perform, she'll run the risk of breaking her ankle completely and Puck goes out and buys her a bunch of flowers and a balloon. They all sing her a song on the taxi ride back from the hospital.

;:;:

"We haven't used the sock code." Brittany whispers when they're both in their own beds and Santana can't get to sleep.

"Yeah." She says back, louder than Brittany because they're both awake so there's no point keeping their voices down. "Too busy for Nationals to hook-up."

"We should hook-up." Brittany says and Santana knows she's almost asleep. She knows Brittany's drifting tone far too well; she used to hear it close to her ear at night. She misses Brittany's warm breath, soft against her cheek.

"Yeah." Santana nods to herself in her bed, keeps her eyes firmly closed. It's nice to entertain the thought. To think of going back in time to when Santana didn't think hooking up with Brittany was just another way to express their friendship. Back when she actually quite liked Artie and didn't care where his sausage fingers or floppy dick went.

"Lord Tubbington…" Brittany's voice is so quite, so silky soft and soothing, Santana knows it'll only be a matter of seconds. "… said that I shouldn't miss you the way I do."

Brittany's breathing gets heavier and Santana rolls over, presses her face into the cold side of the pillow and tries to fall asleep.

;:;:

It's their final practice for Nationals and everyone is stressing and Santana is being a raging bitch on a mission from the devil and everyone is avoiding each other's eyesight. Zizes is the only one that finds it slight amusing, sitting with her crutches and a basket of chocolate bunnies Puck keeps supplying her with. And like, he either really likes her or her set of potatoes are really something to get a handful of. Because Santana's great, but she never got gifts like that.

Santana's gone from feeling sorry for Lauren to hating her with all her guts as they all try to make up for the gap she's left in not being able to take part. And it's a rather large gap seeing as though she's as big as the muffin man himself.

Brittany's taking it hard, her and Mike being the main dancers, and she's started to panic and moan and throw baby fits that children couldn't excel at as well as her.

;:;:

They take a break and Santana hunts Brittany down to the toilets. She's standing in the corner and casting evils to the wall opposite.

"What'd it do? Try to grab your ass?" Santana laughs and goes to stand next to Brittany in the corner,

"Walls don't have hands." She says, and that was kind of the joke but Brittany's too stressed to hear it.

"You'll do fine, Britt. You always do."

She crosses her arms tighter across her chest and throws her bottom lip further over the edge. "No, I don't. You don't either. You mess everything up." Santana raises her eyebrows because Brittany literally is the definition of childish.

"Excuse me?"

"I said-"

"I know what you said, Britt." Santana frowns, stepping away from the wall. "I just don't know why you said it."

"Because I'm compressed and you told me to look for other people's waterfalls to make me feel better."

"You're stressed and looking for my downfall?" She raises her eyebrows.

"Yes, maybe. Definitely." Brittany nods.

"Look for Rachel's downfall."

"She has none." Brittany shrugs helplessly. "Rachel's completely lush and super."

"Jesus." Santana huffs and decides she can't actually deal with Brittany's idiocy at the minute, walking to the door and planning on sending the great Rachel Berry in for a wave of confidence.

"You walk away. That's what I've decided your waterfall is." Brittany says. And, just because Santana knows it'll work. Just because she's so fed up of not doing what she wants, she strides over to Brittany and pulls her into an open-mouthed kiss, pulling hard against Brittany's neck.

Brittany pushes back just as strong, reaching around to thread her fingers in Santana's hair and beginning to push them both off the wall. Santana moans into it and she almost doesn't want to enjoy this, she doesn't want to need it. Because it just feels too good, feels too much likes it's the right person. Too much like her whole body is relenting and sighing into Brittany completely.

So she pulls away, untangling her fingers and tripping over her own feet as she skids out the door and wipes at her lips to get Brittany's feel away, wipes her tongue against her teeth to rid her mouth of the taste that really shouldn't feel so right.

;:;:

Santana avoids Brittany for the rest of the day. Decides the floor is a lot more interesting to look at when she's dancing. The ceiling is a convenient place to keep her eyes latched onto when she sings and between the breaks she figures Kurt's gayness isn't quite so bad compared to her own.

She goes to sleep early so that Brittany has no choice but to enter the room and keep quite at the idea of waking Santana from her complete insomnia. And, it's quite endearing, watching Brittany with half open eyes as she tiptoes around the room and listening as she quietly lowers herself onto the mattress.

;:;:

They all win at Nationals, and even through all the Glee Club's surprised faces, Santana knows it's what was expected. They completely took the roof off and showed up every other singer in the room. Santana doesn't even have the decency to give an apologetic look towards the losing teams.

Brittany flies into her arms at the end, celebrations and fireworks in everyone's heads on the stage. "I was great." She whispers, closely against Santana's ear. She'd be lying if she said the world didn't go silent as Brittany's breath lingered against her lobe. "You were great. We were all great, right?"

She leans back, like she needs Santana's approval or confirmation to be able to fully enjoy herself. Santana hugs back tighter and brushes some hair that falls from Brittany's perfectly adjusted headband. "Totally. We killed it." She nods and knows her eyes linger a little too long across Brittany's lips. She has the craving to surge forward and completely take Brittany then and there. But that's not the way things are going to go, so she presses a delicate kiss to her cheek and lets her hands drop from Brittany's waist.

Brittany looks slightly disappointed but they both get it. This is a time to be celebrating what they've already got, and Santana isn't quite ready to take what she knows will always be rightly hers.

Soon, she thinks as she watches Brittany bounce off to celebrate with Mercedes. She pretends that her arms don't feel completely empty without a specific person imbedded between them.

Soon.


End file.
